


Are You Allowed To Tell God To Suck It?

by minyoungis



Series: BTS [14]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Businessman Namjoon, Cute, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Swearing, angel au, but he's a good dude dw about it, for context, listen yn is a badass angel who loves human joon idk what's so hard to understand here, passing mentions of insecurity and god and religion, some philosophical waxing about how fucking sad we all are but nothing too serious, yn's an angel and joon is a human that yn's been sent down to reform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27114835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minyoungis/pseuds/minyoungis
Summary: “I’m not leaving anytime soon,” you whisper, making sure he understands every single word, hears the sincerity in your voice, realises that you wouldn’t just send God a massive fuck you and give yourself a new name (that you found in one of the books in this very library, actually) on a whim.
Relationships: Kim Namjoon | RM/Reader
Series: BTS [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973482
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Are You Allowed To Tell God To Suck It?

**Author's Note:**

> a real doozy this one is ngl

_‘Hey, uh, God? Yeah, this is Angel Number 7625H. Remember me? The one you didn’t allow back in for falling in love with the human I was supposed to reform? Well, I’m just sending this to say suck it and that I don’t want to come back anyway. While we’re at it, I’ll be needing my stuff, so if you could have them tossed down whenever you’re free, that’d be great. I’m sure you know where I live, with your omniscience and all. Thanks and regards!_

_P.S. : I go by Y/N now. I like it better than a serial number.’_

“Are you allowed to tell God to suck it?”

With a grin, you lick the stamp and slap it on the envelope addressed to ‘ _Up There_ ’. “Well, first of all, it really is a toss-up between _which_ form God ends up being in when they receive the letter.”

Namjoon gets that light in his eyes as he leans forward in his large, mahogany armchair, that brightness and eagerness that you’ve seen in children who get too excited, right before they pee in their pants. “Tell me about their forms.”

You indulge him. You always do. None of your other subjects were this intrigued or this intriguing. But then, none of your other subjects were Kim Namjoon.

“They constantly shift. One moment as Shakti, another as Jehovah. There are millions, if not billions of shapes.”

“Have you ever seen them? God, I mean?”

No, you had not. But no harm in hyping yourself up.

“Once,” you say, gravitas in your voice as you drop the sealed envelope on the table. “Accidentally transported myself too far to the left after one of my missions and ended up in the inner quarters.”

Satisfyingly awed, Namjoon asks, now at the edge of his seat, “What form were they in?”

“Couldn’t tell,” you shrug, leaning back in your chair, arms comfortably slung on the rests.

He seems satisfied with the evasive answer. It only serves to make him think more.

It’s like this. Eight months ago, you were sent down on a routine mission. There is a person who is an asshole, make him not-an-asshole. Except, well, the asshole wasn’t really that much of an asshole. Just…kinda sad and maybe an unhealthily high blood pressure. Bit of an entitled dick, but not unkind. He wasn’t one of those intrinsically distant people. Just circumstantially. But you had a job and you were going to do it, goddammit.

So in your barista disguise, you had begun your reformation of one, 28 year old, Kim Namjoon, big shot CEO of Kim Enterprises. Ivy League graduate, trust fund baby, featured in Forbes’ Richest Under 30. Cold to people who don’t know him, lukewarm to people who do.

The instant you saw him on the first morning on the job, not looking up at you as he placed his order in a high, cold drawl, eyes focused on the phone in his hand, bluetooth headset on, complete with an expensive wristwatch and a black briefcase, you knew the problem. Angels have that kind of power.

He was entirely too repressed. Humans were not made to lock things up, to be reserved with shields as high as the sky extending ten feet in every direction.

So you slowly began to get under his skin. A little by little, making him let out everything he had kept sealed in short bursts, like a pressure cooker with a defective weight. Few times a week, you’d purposely mess up his order, adding some extra sugar or taking it easy on the caffeine. Once a month or so, you’d nudge the paper cup while handing it to him over the counter so the coffee would spill on his fingers. When you weren’t messing up his morning for him, you’d slink out of the shop, following him to his office, hit the elevator buttons on every floor so it would take longer to reach him or dress up as an employee and purposely bump into him in the corridors. And obviously, you weren’t scared of getting caught.

If there’s one thing you’ve learnt in your career as a Reformation Angel, it’s that humans are shockingly unobservant. But then again, you hadn’t encountered a human like Kim Namjoon before.

You hadn’t been bothered about him figuring out what you were, realising that he was being deliberately poked and prodded so that those tight shoulders of his could finally begin to droop once in a while.

And for the first four months, everything seemed to be going according to plan. He had scowled a bit, shouted some, ranted at a closed lift door. But more importantly, and as more of an upside, you had also caught him smiling at his phone once, some lovely dimples appearing, and when you were mixing up his schedule after convincing his assistant to take a break, you had seen that he had even marked a weekend as _Vacation – talk to Yoongi_.

But then, small problems began to crop up. For one, he started to spend more time around the coffee shop. Which you were glad about, at first, because it signified that he was slowing down, but it made you antsy because you kept catching him staring at you with a shrewd look on his face. He’d look away immediately, but you still knew.

For another, he stopped spending so much time inside his office, often taking to walking around, looking for something, for somebody. It hadn’t bothered you much. In fact, it only served as an opportunity for you to sneak in and jumble the papers on his desk. But the more time passed, the more convinced you became that he was looking for you.

And then was the slightly worrying issue of how you began to take more than a purely angelic interest in him. Of course, you never recorded in your observations how your immortal heart would beat a tiny bit faster when he began to actually _thank_ you after receiving his coffee, dimples popping in a small smile. Or how occasionally, you’d maybe spend a little more time everyday on the job, under the guise of ‘ _finishing ahead of schedule_ ’ just to be around him.

But you were an expert, so all those feelings were, ironically enough, locked up and compartmentalised, ready to be purged when you finally went back up after completing this job.

Until everything finally came to a head. You had been on your way to his office building, walking rapidly, winding in between the crowds so you could reach in time to mess up some of his cue cards before his meeting, when you were brought to an abrupt halt by the man himself, standing at the corner of the office, waiting, it seemed for you.

He had a gleam of new-found knowledge in his eyes, a just-elapsed eureka moment, and with a sinking heart, you had noticed a thick, leather-bound book in his hands.

_Angels and Their Types : Do They Still Exist Today?_

And now, here you are, leaning back on your own, cushioned armchair in Namjoon’s large, crowded library, letter telling God that you’re officially retiring, whether they like it or not, as the dim, yellow lights indicate the lateness of the hour, tall bookshelves casting shadows on the little nook you’re both sat in.

“How are we going to send it?”

“I’ll be needing pepper, some chalk and nine lavender scented candles. Also a wooden floor.”

“What’s the pepper for?” he asks, once again excited at the prospect of knowledge.

“Garnish.”

His eyes narrow and he lets out a small huff, leaning back on his chair with a pout when he realises that you’re messing with him.

With a giggle, you rise from your seated position, rounding the coffee table and making your way towards him, bottoms of your feet sinking into the soft carpeting as you pad over.

“We have people in postal services everywhere,” you say soothingly as you perch yourself on the arm of his chair, body tilted towards him, legs languidly crossed and nudging against the side of his.

He forgets his petulance at this thrilling, new titbit of information, this glean into a world that he recently discovered and has been greedily learning about from you. “Are they angels as well? Do they have humans to reform? Can they travel to heaven whenever they want?”

In his rush, he tilts forward excitedly, arm coming up to steady you around your waist as he apologetically winces when he nearly knocks you off with his enthusiasm.

Give him a chance to gain some knowledge, and he really does become a child. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, so many possibilities waiting to come to a standstill at your response.

His wide eyes look up at you, waiting eagerly for your answer. You give him as stern a look as you can muster, despite the fondness in your eyes that you can’t quite mask as you reply, “Yes, they’re angels as well. Only some of them are Reformation Angels, we’re rather rare, you see. And I don’t know why you’d ask the last question, even _I_ can go up whenever I want to.”

“Didn’t they ban you last week?” he cheekily asks, eyes mirthful, words softened by his fingers gently dancing along the curve of your hip.

Frowning, you reply, “Okay, in _theory_ I can go up whenever I want.”

“Do you think you’ll want to?”

You can see his shields slowly coming up, the carefreeness of the last hour being masked by that façade you had worked so had to ensure would make an appearance only in important board meetings. But you’re an angel. Even if he weren’t the reason you’re giving up an eternity in heaven, condemning yourself to staying in the middle place, you’d be able to tell what he’s feeling.

Humans are so very fickle. So insecure and scared and constantly preparing for everybody to leave.

You turn fully sideways so you’re facing him, looking down at his face as you tilt his chin up with a finger, forcing him to make eye contact with you. His palm, now at the small of your back, feels cold, only lightly resting, like he’s steeling himself to let you go. On his knee that you aren’t half sitting on, his fingers twitch nervously.

“I’m not leaving anytime soon,” you whisper, making sure he understands every single word, hears the sincerity in your voice, realises that you wouldn’t just send God a massive fuck you and give yourself a new name (that you found in one of the books in this very library, actually) on a whim.

His gaze that was hovering somewhere near your left ear snaps to your own as he regards you for a bit, indecision and childish hope swimming behind his cool, unbothered exterior. A few seconds later, he gives you a small, accepting nod. His only indication of pleasure is the subtle flex of his fingers as they rest more solidly on your back, nudging you close so he can burrow his head in the folds of your billowy dress.

You soothingly card a hand through his hair, acknowledging everything he isn’t saying. The seal on the letter glints in the light, catching your eye, vaguely shocking you as you realise that you’re about to sign yourself up for eternal damnation.

But the years have been long, and not entirely kind, and you have a reason to say goodbye. You’ve met hundreds of humans in your lifetime. But none of them have been Kim Namjoon.

**Author's Note:**

> i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!  
> find me on tumblr (where everything is cross posted) at @min-youngis :D


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